L'Amore et Morte
by IzzyxArsenic
Summary: Graverobber encouters a girl bent on becoming his "apprentice." Only problem is, drug dealers don't play very well with others. They also don't like to share their belongings. Graverobber/OC fic.


It has been said that the darkest hour comes just before the dawn. I guess it's true, because this whole city is living in eternal _fucking_ darkness. It has been ever since I could remember. Dark, disgusting, vermin-ridden place, certainly not a place that I'm proud to call home. But of course, GeneCo is here to make everything better. **Bullshit!** I gave up on GeneCo a very long time ago. I mean, where was GeneCo when the Repo man came to collect my father for missing a payment on his kidneys? Where was GeneCo when my mother blew her brains out when she couldn't get her daily Zydrate fix? Thanks to GeneCo, I'm an orphan and have been since the tender age of fourteen. I got by for a while, until what little food and savings we had left was depleted thanks to my need to survive. Now I live on the streets, and although an odd-end job here and there helps, it just simply isn't enough. Now I'm at a crossroads. Do I succumb to helplessness and die quietly, or do I turn to the world I hate and start selling that which I loathe so much? Well, I've never been quiet, and I'm sure as hell not ready to die. Zydrate, here I come.

Well, this is just fucking phenomenal. I have been searching for a Zydrate pusher for one week with absolutely no luck. Every junkie I've asked must think I work for the Genecops because they refuse to tell me a goddamn thing. I must say, if there is anything good about a druggie, it has to be their loyalty. _Ugh, I need a drink._

I step into the nearest bar and it is as seedy a joint I could have asked for. Full of degenerates, there has to be a snitch somewhere. A total of ten minutes at the bar and already someone has bought me a double. A man in his mid-40's, if I had to guess, and dressed in a shabby suit, like he's trying to impress someone and getting nowhere. He simply screams Zydrate whore. I decide that the best way to get him to talk is to flirt, so I swallow my pride and head over to his booth.

"Hi, there," I purred. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, pretty lady."

I groan inwardly and sit down. _This is gonna be a long night._ A few rounds of drinks and some smooth talking get me a little info. His name is Stephen, he's 43 (bingo!), and has recently been left by his wife of fifteen years who had been cheating on him with his brother. God, I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. I giggled a little at this and he beamed at me. Obviously he had just said something witty. I smiled a little and looked down to see that his hand had found its way to my thigh. I struggled to turn my grimace into a grin.

"You know Stephen, you look like a good person. Just the type of guy I'm looking for. I wonder if you could help me with something?"

His eyes lit up with hope as I sidled into his lap and began to run my fingers through his hair. "What do you need help with honey," he asked in what must have been an attempt as his "seductive voice."

"Well…" I snuggled a little closer, and put my mouth to his ear. "I'm sort of looking for some _Zydrate_." I whispered the last word into his ear and pulled back to see him blanch and swallow audibly.

"Z-Zydrate?"

"Mm-hmm. I just need a little hit. See, I've got this little surgery coming up…"

"Surgery?"

"Yeah, just something small, but Zydrate is _so_ expensive, ya know?" He nodded. "Only problem for me is that I can't afford this operation as it is and medical Z just makes it worse. So…" I flicked my tongue over his earlobe. "Can you help me? Like I said, I think you're a good person, and good people help others, right?"

"I-I don't know what you're implying, but…"

"Please Stephen. It would really help me. Would you really want to see me on the front page of the paper because a Repo man got me? All because I couldn't afford to pay my bills?"

He shuddered and gulped again. He looked around miserably, only to turn back to see me pouting at him. He sighed.

"S-Sure thing, sweets. He hangs around Sanitarium Square. We call him Grave robber."

"Sanitarium Square. Grave robber." I repeated as I scooted off his lap and stood up.

"Where are you going," he asked. He looked completely shell-shocked.

"Sanitarium Square, of course. I knew you were a good guy, Stephen, too bad that doesn't get you anywhere." And I walked away and out the door as he slumped back against the booth, looking more morose than when I had found him.


End file.
